


a minute to midnight

by scottmczall



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Fluff, Stydia Month
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 01:25:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4244262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmczall/pseuds/scottmczall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We're almost there!" Stiles complains, "We can make out for, like..." He shakes his wrist, the watch sliding forward. Eleven forty nine. "Oh." He frowns. </p><p>Lydia snorts, "Yes. 'Oh'. We're late, I <i>told</i> you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	a minute to midnight

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little thing for the stydia month. And I was feeling a little seasonal apparently. Enjoy this thing!

Eleven thirty nine and they're shoeless. In any other state of mind she might have cared, shamelessly asked for a ride on his back and kissed his temple whenever he ceased the incessant talking. Not tonight, though.

There's a bottle of champagne hanging loosely from the grasp in between her middle and index finger. There's one quarter left of the actual drink, and the lack of liquid makes it sway evenly. She's been half sure it’s about to fall since Stiles gave her the reigns.

Their arms are linked together, her weight against his almost as much as his is against hers; and, god, they're _drunk_ , walking barefoot in the middle of the streets like they're teenagers—though Lydia recalls a lot more breathless running than blissful drunken strolls from their teenage years. "How's Scott not spamming you yet?" She looks up at him, clutching tighter to his arm.

Stiles snorts and turns her way while patting his pocket, careful not to let their shoes fall from his hand. "Turned it off." He winks at her, smirking like he's the smartest man alive. "Can't drink and text, Lyds. Did you not pay attention to the lectures in high school? About Cindy, the girl who texted and drank and killed like, ten people and a donkey?" Stiles shoves her lightly, trying to make his point, and Lydia only giggles in response, "Irresponsible."

She hooks a finger up Stiles' sleeve and pulls it up, sneaking a look at the watch. Eleven forty five. "I was getting laid in high school." She retorts idly, trying to calculate how long they'd take to get to Scott's. It was a short walk now, maybe seven minutes at their drunken pace.

Stiles gasps, trying to hold back a laugh, "That was such a low blow!" He admonishes, frowning even with the incredulous grin playing on his lips. "Jesus, I forget how ruthless you are sometimes."

Lydia rolls her eyes, not making half the effort to hold back her own smile, "That means I'm not doing my job right." She bites playfully.

"And what's that? Keeping me afraid, yet aroused?" Stiles wiggles his eyebrows, leaning down for a kiss. Their lips touch swiftly before Lydia's ducking her head and tugging on his arm, urging him to walk faster and pay attention to something other than the two of them.

She fastens her pace, "We're gonna be late."  

"We're almost there!" Stiles complains, "We can make out for, like..." He shakes his wrist, the watch sliding forward. Eleven forty nine. "Oh." He frowns.

Lydia snorts, "Yes. 'Oh'. We're late, I _told_ you."

"We're kinda drunk. It's okay." He assures, though keeping her speed. She supposes it isn't that much work when his legs are so much longer than hers.

She ignores him this time, weighing their back and forth as another step back on their schedule. They should've left the house an hour earlier, but Stiles made piña coladas and talked about their first trip to Cabo. Their first trip _together_ —well, if you don't count their haphazard adventure to Vegas, anyway, which didn't even make its way out of California state's limits. (She doesn't).

This time, when they start walking faster, neither of them say anything. Stiles doesn't point at the—very visible—fairy lights and nudges her so she pays attention, and she doesn't ask him any more questions. Instead, their arms disentangle, opening enough space so their hands slide together, fingers interlacing naturally, and Lydia walks faster in front of him, not one much for lateness.

The streets are silent with the exception of music traveling out through the night from the apartments where lights are on and shadows cast on curtains. The air is soaked, heavy, and it smells like christmas.

When they reach the obnoxiously over decorated building, fairy lights cascading in two lines, one at each side of the main entry (Kira will light up a village any of the week—a building isn't much), Stiles huffs in relief just as she rings the bell, "Thank god! My feet are killing me!" He leans down and bends his knee, holding his ankle up and taking a look at sole of his foot. He grimaces, so Lydia doesn't follow his eyes.

" _Stiles?_ " The voice comes out muffled from the machine, the sounds of music almost engulfing the name completely.

Lydia rolls her eyes, "He's here. Open up, it's almost time!" She hurries him. The gate opens in a loud clack, and Lydia bursts through, staring at the elevator just down the hall, "Time?" She looks back at Stiles, still rushing in.

"Eleven fifty eight!" Stiles screams, closing the gate and running after her, wincing with every step. " _Fuck_ , I hate to say this, but—take the stairs." He groans, glancing at his clock again.

Her eyes bounce from the elevator to the entry in her corner, and her feet follow quickly, hands reaching forward and pushing the door open. "C'mon, Stiles, stop flopping around like a fish!" She yells, even with him right behind her, getting hit by the thrill that had quickly been taking over her since she saw the building from a distance.

"I'm not!" He yells back, laughing, and takes the hand she offers him.

They run up the stairs, and Lydia's silently thanking Scott for his second floor choice, instead of anything above that. She looks back, watching as Stiles scrambles to keep up with her. Their laughter echo through the small space, and they yell a little bit more, these muffled, manic sounds, their feet working as frantically as their hearts. It feels too slow—and they're doing their best here—the tap of their feet hitting the steps as fast as they can muster, the way Stiles tries not to collapse against her as she tries not to collapse against to wall, but Lydia suspects it's the alcohol kicking up the final notch (after they finished the rest of the champagne on their way and precariously disposed of the bottle, anyway).

They make it in one drunken, hazy piece, though. Well, two. Semantics.

"Scott!" Stiles calls just as they reach the second floor's hall. "Scott, open up!" And as if on cue, the door to Scott's apartment slides open, their friend's head hanging outside. He's got a smile on his face, the wide, welcoming kind both Stiles and Lydia know so well.

"Why'd you take so long?" Scott demands, seeming to expect a real answer before something catches his attention inside and he turns to see. "Hurry up, the countdown is about to start!"

When they're finally, _finally_ crossing the door, after just a few more fastened steps, there are arms everywhere. Malia envelops Lydia in a tight hug, kissing her cheeks and temple, flashing her the most genuine smile before she's disentangling from her and moving on to Stiles. He looks as surprised and delighted as Lydia was, giggling maniacally against her hair.

Allison comes right after, dimples sunk on her cheeks, "You took s—"

"Ten!" Isaac yells from further down the apartment.

Lydia startles, mouth hanging open for a fraction of second before she searches for Stiles. He's right there with her, locking their eyes together almost instantly. Allison smiles and turns, making her way next to Erica.

"Nine!" Kira joins the countdown, hugging Isaac by the waist.

Stiles slides closer to her, giving her his clever smirk right as his hand slides down her waist. ( _Eight!_ ). She smiles up at him, averting her eyes again only when Scott slides the door to the balcony open, revealing a clouded sky. It was pouring earlier. It usually is, this time of the year.

"Seven!" They all chant together now, and Lydia doesn't even notice the word leaving her lips.

Allison leans against Erica, who sneaks a look at both Lydia and Stiles, winking in a quick hello before giving into Allison's graces and launching an arm around her shoulders, squeezing tight.

"Six!" Boyd and Cora yell even louder than the rest of them this time, clacking their beer bottles together.

They never thought they could make it through—much less to this, living beyond scrambling for a peaceful breath, waiting for the next threat to sweep them off their feet in the most foul ways. ( _Five!_ ). They're happy now, complementing each other. They're vital pieces to their own small puzzle. And they're enough, together, apart and both at once.

"Four!"

Stiles takes Lydia's face in his hands, brushing her cheeks with his thumbs and leans down, smiling easy. ( _Three!_ ). Their noses brush and Lydia's eyes flutter close like they've done so many times before as he ceased the space between them, lips searching for hers incessantly. ( _Two!_ ). He licks into her mouth briskly, taking an eager, but short short kiss out of her, their lips sliding apart just as Scott yells, from the top of his lungs, eyes flashing red just because;

"ONE!"

The world explodes in fireworks outside, burning out in the sky, and Lydia catches every glimpse she can get, moving forward, closer to the balcony and her friends, bringing Stiles with her. She can feel all of them—pack, family, _home_. Together. Satiated. Endless.

"Happy new years, Lyds." Stiles whispers against her ear, hugging her from behind.

"Happy new years."

**Author's Note:**

> *summons gods from all over the place* FEEEEEDBAAAAACKKKK. Nice, right? Ok, feedback.


End file.
